


Five Times Erestor Said No to Glorfindel (And the One Time He Didn't)

by kalypsobean



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-14
Updated: 2009-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:25:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From when Erestor came to Imladris, to when Glorfindel left; Erestor would never allow Glorfindel his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Erestor Said No to Glorfindel (And the One Time He Didn't)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ennorwen as part of My Slashy Valentine 2009

I.

There are Orcs in the hills, now. Elves are being driven into the valley, away from their homes and into the autumnal protection of Imladris, where Elrond guarantees they will not be harmed as long as he holds Vilya safe.

Glorfindel makes it his priority to greet every Elf who passes through the border from those outlying settlements; ostensibly it's so he can find out as much as he can about where the Orcs are massing, but he thinks it's more advantageous to disabuse these strangers of the notion that he's to be honoured. He's not deliberately uncouth or rough, but he sits on their chairs with his legs out and ankles crossed and he always turns down offers of drinks and food - anything that could be construed as a sign of favouritism or friendship. He's cultivating an isolated image; he wants to be left alone when he's not training or patrolling, and not just because that time is being slowly eroded as the Orcish threat grows.

 

Then, when his blade is covered in viscous black blood, he looks into the eyes of an Elf with hair of nearly the same colour, but soft and matte where the blood seems to reflect light. It's the first thing he notices, because the contrast is obvious - the Elf is covered with black and shadow.

Glorfindel offers his hand to the Elf; has fleeting visions of directing Asfaloth towards Mithlond and setting sail as soon as the Elf accepts and mounts behind him. But his hand is knocked aside; the Elf walks to Imladris and denies Glorfindel for the first time.

 

II.

The Elf's name is Erestor; Glorfindel learns this from Elrond, because Erestor refuses to speak to him. He refuses to speak to anyone save Elrond, but it still feels quite the personal affront - not even a thank you!

"I was defending myself quite well before you came along and made such a mess," says Erestor, weeks or months later, when there are no more settlements outside the valley and the Orcs are moving on the borders of Imladris itself. He speaks now, but his voice is quiet and his hair is unbraided, flowing straight and smooth over his shoulders and hiding enough of his face to mitigate any expression that might be there.

But Erestor refuses to join the patrols or even train with a blade; he says he's more use where he is, and if he ever had to fight, all would have been lost anyway.

 

III.

It's strange to Glorfindel that Erestor can ignore him, consistently turn him down so easily. He's used to failing when he tries to displace himself from the pedestal that legend put him on long before he returned; with Erestor, he never had to even try. It irks him that the one Elf he's most curious about is the one most removed from him, three doors down and across the thoroughfare. Even more of an annoyance is that now that Erestor is becoming more social, he's being avoided even more obviously.

He realises he's more hurt than humiliated when Erestor hurries past him without even a greeting, and there's nobody to see it. It's not so much an emotional pain as an aching disappointment that never quite subsides, even when Erestor is lost from sight. It would seem that his plan to avoid veneration worked too well; instead of being just another Elf, he's invisible.

 

That night, he leaves a parcel outside Erestor's door; it's nothing much. It's not even that large or decorative - it's a simple silver clasp, moulded into a pattern that vaguely resembles vines.

He finds it outside his own door two mornings later. Erestor has even done him the kindness of leaving a note with it; neatly inked on plain parchment and tucked underneath.

__

I cannot accept your gift; it is too fine a thing for an Elf of such simple tastes as myself.

__

 

__

IV.

Glorfindel lets time pass; he deals with Erestor when necessary and in return Erestor seems to have allowed him some small degree of latitude in what 'necessary' entails. It no longer feels awkward, but sometimes he still catches himself glancing after Erestor, as if to reassure himself of Erestor's presence and exact location.

He berates himself for that, before he does it again.

 

He sees Erestor fight in the markets; he's not sure how it began, but when he's followed the crowd and the noise to where Erestor is pressed against a wall, he feels inclined to end it. The crowd parts for him, of course - he never could quite get to the point where they treated him like any other Third Age Elf - but by the time the onlookers have dispersed, Erestor has wrestled himself free. The motions seemed fluid enough, but Glorfindel is most surprised by Erestor's flexibility and strength - unarmed combat, even in an informal scuffle like this, takes a rare kind of physical discipline. Still, he has no reason to watch and admire Erestor's form right now; he steps between Erestor and Desildur and uses his regrettable reputation to cow Desildur into leaving.

"You didn't have to help me," Erestor says; he's barely winded and not even the least bit untidy.

"You're welcome," is all Glorfindel says. He could say more; it's his job to protect everyone in Imladris, whether the threat comes from outside the borders or inside the halls, and it was nothing personal, after all. To say anything more, though, would be lying, and he won't give Erestor the opportunity to say something else in reply.

 

Later, he thinks about the way Erestor's robes seemed to flow, and he remembers that Erestor's hair had been braided back.

 

V.

The world is white-gold around him, he's warm and at peace. This is how it was supposed to end; how it was woven in the tapestries of Vairë. His task is finished, and there's a certain rightness in his sacrifice; it's like time is folding in on itself in order to correct an imbalance. This is how he died, before, so it's how he dies now; in flame, to preserve life.

It's how he wants to be remembered; that is, assuming he doesn't come back and have to live with it. That was awkward, but it's over now. He can go and wander, timelessly, in the Halls where fate has no meaning.

_I will not let you leave me!_ he hears, and echoing silence from somewhere distant, just when the gold starts to shimmer and darken. There's a bursting in his chest, not painful, but like something that he's been holding back has been let go and now it flows through him, searing away the white and the gold with reckless shadow that leaves him cold and wet.

But when he opens his eyes he finds that he's resting in Erestor's arms, and it almost makes up for not being allowed to finally rest, to never have things set right.

 

VI.

It's been years on years and Glorfindel loses count of them like he did the days and then the months; they blend together and twist and then lose their meaning. Time passes differently when forever means something infinite and deep, when a night stretches out to a week and there never has to be an end - not to this.

Erestor lies sated beneath him; he has no desire to move and Erestor has no reason to leave, and so, in this moment, after everything, there is forever. It's written on Erestor's shoulder in a bruise the shape of his mouth, and it's woven in the tapestries of another world in another time. Every morning he wakes, and every night he sleeps; in between, there is Erestor.


End file.
